


so two paladins get stuck on a compromised ship

by astralscrivener



Series: vld fic requests [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, I forgot how much fun Lance's POV can be, Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), background klance, fic request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 19:58:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13531473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener
Summary: Every Paladin was essential to the team, there was no doubt about that. Everyone had some unique contribution that none of the others could even hope to replicate. But there was something to be said when the sharpshooter was down with a broken arm (reduced to a smaller gun he could wield with just one arm at working capacity), and their team leader had a concussion, sentenced to bed rest for two weeks, or until the cryopods could get back up and running.While the healing pods are down, Lance breaks his arm and Shiro gets a concussion, leaving the two of them sentenced to bed rest when the castle gets infiltrated.fic request fornerdypants: cryopod malfunction





	so two paladins get stuck on a compromised ship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerdypants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdypants/gifts).



> fic request for **[nerdypants](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdypants)** : cryopod malfunction
> 
> i had fun writing this one, i forgot how much i love lance's pov

**.:cryopod malfunction:.**

            It wasn’t the _worst_ time for a cryopod malfunction, exactly, but it wasn’t the _best,_ either.

            Every Paladin was essential to the team, there was no doubt about that. Everyone had some unique contribution that none of the others could even hope to replicate. But there was something to be said when the sharpshooter was down with a broken arm (reduced to a smaller gun he could wield with just one arm at working capacity), and their team leader had a _concussion,_ sentenced to bed rest for two weeks, or until the cryopods could get back up and running.

            Granted, Hunk had a gun of his own. But he was much better suited to charging into battle and providing cover at a closer range. Lance, meanwhile, was usually posted at spots further away, with a steady hand and a hawk’s eye. It was a known fact that no one else on the team shot as well as he did. But none of the guns he could wield until his arm healed had the same capabilities as his rifle.

            And yes, Keith or Allura easily could’ve stepped up in Shiro’s absence. But as the oldest of the group, Shiro had an air about him that demanded attention, demanded obedience. Somehow, his speeches were more rousing than anything the others could muster up. His size, too, aided his demeanor—he dwarfed Keith and Allura. They would’ve had big shoes to fill, literally and metaphorically.

            So it was good that Shiro and Lance hadn’t suffered worse injuries, that they hadn’t had a brush with death, because the team absolutely could not lose either of them permanently. As long as the Galra didn’t get to them before they fixed the pods, everything would be fine.

            But, see, that was the problem: the Galra had been launching relentless attacks for several days now, and today looked to be no different.

            “This sucks,” Lance said.

            He and Shiro were both in Shiro’s room, confined there for the duration of the current battle. Allura had suggested Shiro could at least use some company, and Lance was the perfect candidate. (She insisted that this arrangement was absolutely _not_ to make sure Shiro tried to leave, or accidentally hurt his head worse, _honestly, Shiro, what kind of person do you take me for._ )

            Lance’s bayard sat, deactivated, in his lap, clutched between loose fingers. He almost went on this mission, before Pidge pointed out that with only one functioning arm, he’d have a hard time piloting Blue, when there were two stick controls, and he could only handle one at a time. ( _“Driving with your legs is_ dangerous, _Lance, what the fuck?_ _” “Let me live, Pidge!”_ ) It had taken a team effort between Keith and Hunk to wrestle Lance into Shiro’s room. Regrettably, there was no way to lock them in there, but they faced the threat of Coran’s wrath if they were discovered escaping, and neither of them wanted that. _Coran_ _’s wrath_ often translated to _test subjects for his latest culinary disaster._

            “Could be worse,” Shiro muttered.

            He lay on his back on his bed, hands folded primly over his stomach, eyes shut. Darkness was apparently good for concussions, Keith had explained, and whether it was generic medical knowledge or personal experience he spoke from, neither Lance nor Shiro wanted to know. Shiro just accepted it without question, and found that yes, staring into the dark abyss of shut eyelids appeared to be helping.

            “How?” Lance asked. “How is this better? We’re sitting ducks!”

            “Easy on the voice,” Shiro said, voice still low, followed by a quick _sorry_ by Lance. “I mean, we could be in battle right now.”

            Lance scowled and slumped against the wall, fingers finally falling away from his bayard. “Easy for you to say. I’d _rather_ be in battle. I need something to do. I don’t like _just_ _sitting_. And it doesn’t help that _just sitting_ during battle makes me feel useless. They could be dying out there!”

            Shiro groaned. “Lance, they’re not _dying._ ”

            Lance opened his mouth to make another remark, but slowly shut it. He absolutely _would not_ try to convince Shiro that the others were out there dying when he wasn’t there to protect them. It was cruel in itself, even if it came off as another one of Lance’s overzealous antics. And if it worked? If it actually got _through_ to Shiro? Lance didn’t particularly feel like accidentally hurting Shiro while he had a freaking _concussion._

            He opted for huffing instead.

            “I just wish I’d brought my helmet in here, so we could actually be connected to them.”

            Shiro wasn’t even looking at him, and he could practically see the light bulb appear over Lance’s head.

            “That’s it! I’m going to get my helmet,” Lance said.

            “I don’t know why you didn’t bring it with your bayard,” Shiro remarked as Lance stood up, taking up his bayard once more.

            Lance resisted the urge to stick his middle finger up at Shiro, even if he could get away with it without Shiro knowing.

            “I didn’t think I’d need it. I was mistaken,” Lance said sharply, and opened the door. He poked his head into the hallway, and found that it was empty, save for the distant sounds of battle outside of the castleship. That didn’t matter—not to him. What mattered the most, in this case, was the fact that Coran was _not_ currently roaming, to make sure Lance and Shiro stayed in one spot, because he was probably too busy navigating the castle and managing its defenses, which meant Lance had all the freedom in the world to get to the suit room, get his helmet, and get back to Shiro’s room without getting caught.

            Lance could’ve run. Probably should’ve run, with Shiro now on his own. But he had _time._ He strolled leisurely to the suit room. Even the few times the castle rocked a little harder than necessary, he never broke pace, convincing himself along the way that the others were _fine_ out there, even in the absence of one Lion (as he’d generously allowed Allura to pilot Blue, and _no, I_ _’m_ not _bitter, shut_ up, _Hunk_ ).

            “There you are,” Lance said, taking his helmet into his hand, precariously balancing it and his bayard.

            It was that precise moment at which the castle went dark. Complete, pitch-black, _I can_ _’t even see an inch in front of my face_ darkness. Lance did _not_ shriek when the lights doused, no matter what anyone who might’ve been nearby would’ve claimed. Nor did he silently shove down an impending freakout when the lights stayed that way for a solid minute, or when a loud alarm started blaring, and red lights began flashing, cutting through the darkness every few seconds.

            “Ah, cheese and rice,” Lance whispered, and then put his helmet on. It wasn’t connected to his suit, but it was still functional nonetheless. Lance switched on night vision mode, the castle turning strange shades of black and green right before his eyes.

            The next step was to turn on his comms. The moment he did, shouting flooded his ears. He winced at the sounds of the other Paladins’ frantic yelling.

            “Team,” he said, “what’s going on?”

            His voice, calmer and softer than the rest, was drowned out.

            _“That particle barrier, I swear to fucking quiznak—”_

_“Someone needs to stop them before they can breach—”_

_“Too late, I’m afraid!”_

_“We’re doomed!”_

_“Someone get back there and shut that shit down!”_

“Guys!” Lance shouted. “What’s—what breach—?”

            Lance got his answer before he could stop to breathe. Footsteps thudded down the hall, quick and heavy. Lance withdrew into the shadows of the suit room, ducking behind one of the five columns that held their Paladin suits. He hadn’t shut the door—he hadn’t shut the quiznaking _door—_

            _“The Galra have managed to breach the castle,”_ Coran said. _“That’s what triggered the alarm I expect you’re hearing right now! I would hope you and Shiro are still safe in Sh—”_

            Lance switched off his comms.

            He needed it absolutely silent in here, both so he could pinpoint where, exactly, the Galra were, without needing to peer around the column he’d hidden behind, and because he didn’t need the Galra to accidentally hear noise filtering through his helmet, even if that risk was practically nonexistent.

            Lance hardly breathed as he listened to the sounds of Galra soldiers pounding through the castle, a few of them gathering in the doorway to this room. Lance shut his eyes, body stiffening as the soldiers began to walk around the room slowly, muttering amongst themselves about the two suits of armor hanging up. If these guys got any closer, they might’ve been able to see through the semitransparent glass, and see him hiding behind his own suit, one with a missing helmet.

            “So, two of them are still here…”

            “Find them. Don’t leave this ship without them.”

            Lance itched to activate his bayard and shoot these guys right here, but a bigger gun was better-suited for that job—especially his rifle, with a silencer—but, again, that was kind of _out of the freaking question_ at the _worst time possible._ So he remained behind the Paladin suit tubes, trying to pinpoint where, in the room, these soldiers were. A few moved out, and headed for other parts of the castle, but one or two lingered.

            _C_ _’mon…leave so I can leave…ugh, why did I abandon Shiro?_

Concussed or not, Shiro had his GalraTech arm and Lance had had his bayard with him—the two of them could’ve taken on a surprise attack by the Galra no problem. Now, there was a problem. He was alone, with the Galra roaming, hopelessly outmatched with one functioning arm, and no armor. Shiro was alone, with a head injury, unaware of what was currently happening. And Coran was likely too busy manning the bridge and the ship’s defenses to even begin to think about tackling intruders.

            _Leave,_ Lance thought desperately. _Don_ _’t make me use my bayard._

            The moment he used his bayard would be the moment he gave himself away, and if the others were still nearby, he’d be too overpowered. It didn’t sound like these Galra wanted him dead—it sounded more like they wanted him as a prisoner. Whether as leverage against Voltron, or arena fodder, or maybe both, Lance wasn’t sure and didn’t want to find out.

            “Huh,” one of the soldiers said, and Lance’s every muscle locked into place as he listened. “Seems like one of the helmets is missing…”

            _Oh, come on!_

            Lance waited for another voice to respond to the soldier, but none came. From the sounds of movement he picked up on—feet against metal, casual breathing—it seemed there was only one soldier in here. It wouldn’t remain that way for long. He peered around the tube, and met gazes with the soldier.

            For a moment, neither he nor the soldier said anything. Then the soldier opened his mouth, fractionally, to shout for backup. The transformation of his bayard into a pistol was instantaneous—Lance lifted his arm and fired, four times, and the soldier was dead on the ground.

            “What’s going on?” another voice yelled from down the hall.

            _Oh no. Not good, this is_ not good _by any means—_

            Maybe if he hid himself, he could pick off the soldiers as they came in. Assuming they all came slowly and casually and one at a time, and didn’t realize that he was picking them off. He didn’t have a read on how many there were, and if he found himself in a corner, surrounded by five, or ten, or more than _that_ …

            Lance switched on his comms again, in the brief moments of solitude he had.

            “Guys,” he hissed over the sounds of battle, “I’m in a tight squeeze right now. How long until one of you can get back here and _help me?_ ”

            Lance winced, one eye twitching as Coran began shouting. _“Aren’t you with Shiro right now?! You two were supposed—”_

            “No, I’m not, okay?” Lance interrupted, and peered around the suit tube. He ducked back behind it as soon as he saw another soldier approaching the doorway, and shut the speakers of his comms off. “I can’t hear you guys. I shut you off—just know that I’m trapped in the suit room and I need out. I went to go get my helmet, Shiro’s still in his room. Just…come help when you can, okay? And make sure I don’t mistake you for a Galra soldier.”

            He wasn’t keen on the idea of accidentally shooting one of his friends in the midst of a rescue effort.

            He supposed the others were probably yelling at him that it was reckless of him to just _abandon_ their concussed leader in his room, leaving him to the mercy of whatever soldiers had the luck of finding him, but he had bigger problems to worry about right now. The team could ream him for this later.

            “Is someone in here?” the nearest soldier demanded, drawing Lance’s attention back to the issue at hand. He held his breath and listened to another soldier enter the room. He heard the sharp intake of breath, probably at the sight of the dead soldier. The new soldier’s boots thudded against the floor as he stopped dead in his tracks.

            If this guy had any sort of experience, he would know that the kill was still fresh, which meant the murderer was likely still in the room. As in, this soldier had to know that Lance was hiding, with his little laser pistol and broken arm and helmet and no armor.

            _Get out_ _…get out so I can run…_

            “Who’s in here?” the soldier demanded, and Lance scowled. _Naturally._

            Lance prepared to maneuver around the tube and squeeze off a few shots, as he had before, when more soldiers stopped by the doorway.

            “What’s going— _how did he die?!_ ” one soldier shouted, as he and another entered the room.

            _Three to one._

            Lance watched his odds of survival dwindle as more soldiers entered the room, as the ones already inside began shouting for backup. It would only be a few minutes more, _maybe,_ until these guys found him, even in the total darkness. If they could see their dead comrade, then they had night vision, and they could see Lance.

            _Dead_ _…dead, that’s it!_

Lance sank down against the suit tube, as slowly and quietly as he could manage, until he was nothing more than a heap of lanky limbs on the floor. He was slightly hunched over, as much in the fetal position as he could manage without coming off as suspicious, to protect his broken arm and to conceal his activated bayard.

            He stopped moving just in time—one of the soldiers ordered the others to fan out and do a complete sweep of the room.

            Lance held his breath the best he could, and hoped that his comm mic was picking up on enough of the shouting going on that the others knew he was in trouble. Like, serious, _I might end up a Galra prisoner if someone doesn_ _’t get here soon_ trouble.  By extension, Shiro was in trouble. Because if there were this many soldiers just in this section of the castle…how many were storming the rest of it?

            “Well, look at this,” a voice said. Lance recognized the swaggering footsteps of a triumphant soldier. “Iznik must’ve gotten to this one at the same time this one got to him.”

            _Mmhmm,_ Lance thought. _Now leave me here to rot. I_ _’m dead. Absolutely useless. Scram._

            Lance’s requests were not met.

            The soldier bent down, and Lance went limp as a wet noodle. The soldier grabbed him by his soldier and rolled him over, his limbs flopping. He suppressed a wince as his bayard fell out of his hand, and resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief when it remained as a pistol, instead of deactivating.

            “Is he really dead?” another soldier asked.

            _Yes I am. Bye. Leave. Go. GOODBYE._

            Lance kept his eyes shut. If they were open, he was certain the soldiers would see him flicking them about, taking in the scene, reassessing his odds of getting out of this one. Hopefully they hadn’t seen enough of their comrades die with their eyes open to know that was how his should’ve been.

            “How should I know?” the first soldier said.

            “Like this,” the second one answered.

            The soldier must’ve seen his broken arm, wrapped up and in a sling. Lance screamed the moment the soldier’s foot connected with it, eyes flying open.

            There were a lot of things Lance could’ve been thinking about as soldiers suddenly moved in, a group of them grabbing him by his arms—both his broken and not-broken one—and calling for backup, calling for someone to plot them an exit so they could get out with their prisoner. He could’ve been thinking about how shitty his luck was, that he’d gotten himself into this mess. He could’ve been thinking about Shiro, probably still unaware of the situation. He could’ve been thinking about how he was probably going to be tortured if he didn’t get rescued soon. But mostly, he thought:

            _Wow, sure am glad they didn_ _’t think to take my helmet_ and _I hope my scream was loud enough for the team to hear._

            His screaming faded to whimpering, the soldiers apparently having no mercy for a broken bone, more focused on stealing his bayard. The bayard deactivated in the grip of the soldier who picked it up, and the soldier frowned, like he’d been planning to use it against Lance. Not that Lance particularly minded—he was more focused on the pain washing over him in waves, not unlike the way it had the day on the battlefield when he’d broken his arm.

            Yesterday.

            “Would you quiet down?” one of the soldiers holding him demanded.

            “No,” Lance snapped back, struggling to see straight. “If you’re gonna kidnap me— _ohfuckwhywouldyoudothatokayI_ _’llbequiet—_ ”

            So. The soldier realized the source of his pain.

            The soldier let up on Lance’s arm when he complied with his orders to shut up, mostly because he was too dizzy to really put up much of a fight, and marched him out of the suit room. Lance found that he and the soldier, as well as another soldier holding onto his good arm, were at the center of a whole pack of soldiers now starting toward another part of the ship. A hangar, probably. Or some massive hole that the soldiers had made to invade. Either one.

            Lance regretted not turning his comm speakers back on. The entire point in going to get his helmet was to be able to hear what was going on on the battlefield, and to communicate with his team.

            Commotion at the back of the group pulled Lance out of his thoughts. He tried to glance behind himself, as the soldier holding his broken arm let go of him, and shoved him fully into the grasp of the other soldier. Around him, guns whined to life. Lance was shorter than these soldiers, and craned his neck to see what, exactly, they were pointing their guns at.

            “Shiro?”

            For all his reckless monkeying around as a child, Lance had never gotten a concussion. One time, as a Paladin, he’d been close, but a stay in one of the healing pods prevented him from finding out what having one truly felt like. For all of his inexperience, though, he was pretty sure standing solo against a whole squad of Galra soldiers was detrimental to the healing process.

            “Two Paladins,” one soldier mused. “This’ll get the whole squad moved up.”

            “Stand down,” the soldier holding Lance barked at Shiro, and the crowd around them parted, so Shiro could get a good look at Lance’s beat-up state, and the gun the soldier pressed against Lance’s temple. “Make a move, and he’ll die. The Blue Paladin’s worthless when we can bring back the Black Paladin.”

            _Thanks for the confidence booster,_ Lance didn’t say.

            Instead, he met gazes with Shiro, and from the stricken look on Shiro’s face, he could tell Shiro was likely having flashbacks to that one other time the castle got infiltrated, and he’d tried to save Lance’s ass. And failed. And gotten captured. And needed rescue by Pidge and Keith.

            _The others need to stop leaving me and Shiro in the castle,_ Lance decided then.

            “If he’s worthless to you,” Shiro said calmly, “then you’ll have no problem putting him down and taking _me_ instead.”

            Lance choked on his own spit.

            “Shiro, n—”

            “I thought we agreed you would be quiet,” the soldier holding Lance hissed, pressing the barrel of the gun harder against his head. Lance went silent, staring daggers at Shiro. Seriously, what was it, between himself and Keith, that made them so self-sacrificing? It had to run in the family, because the others never got like this. Maybe it was a black-hair thing, or like, a tragic anime backstory thing.

            Lance would have to ask later.

            “Now,” the soldier said, returning his attention to Shiro, “if you _agree_ he’s worthless, then you’ll see that there’s no point in leaving him alive. Especially considering we can’t have any witnesses here.”

            “I never agreed,” Shiro said.

            His voice remained scarily even, scarily measured. It was no wonder Pidge had gotten the rest of the team to start calling him Space Dad—he kept cool under pressure, an intimidating air about him. If it was Lance in his position, and someone was holding a gun to Shiro’s head and threatening to kill him, Lance might’ve been losing his shit. Maybe. Or maybe he would’ve been calm, too. Or maybe—

            _Seriously? This is what you_ _’re thinking about? There’s a quiznaking gun to your head._

            “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” Shiro continued. “Let him go, and I’ll go with you. Hurt him, and I kill you.”

            Welp. There it was. Lance winced as the soldier’s grip on him tightened, and he readjusted the gun against Lance’s head.

            “No,” the soldier said. “Here are _my_ terms. We’ll take both of you. Come with us willingly, and he gets to live. Put up a fight, and we’ll kill him, and then we’ll _still_ take you with us.”

            Shiro said nothing, and remained eerily still.

            “Make your decision quickly,” the soldier holding Lance said, and rested his finger against the trigger of his gun.

            Lance liked to think that he didn’t totally annoy Shiro. He liked to think that Shiro considered him a little brother of sorts, and especially liked to think that Shiro _wouldn_ _’t_ enjoy seeing him get his head blown off. Even if there was some plan here that Shiro was cooking up on the fly, or maybe some flaw in the Galra’s plan that he was looking to expose, Lance liked to think that Shiro wouldn’t take his chances gambling with Lance’s _life._

            “Fine,” Shiro said, and stalked forward, hands raised in surrender.

            Lance realized what was going on as soon as the Galra put a single soldier in charge of Shiro, and brought him to the center of the group, alongside Lance. The soldier holding Shiro didn’t last very long—Shiro’s GalraTech arm flared to life, a ghastly purple, and that fight was over before it began. Shiro then stuck his arm straight through the back of Lance’s captor. Lance’s captor went still, gun clattering out of his grasp.

            Then the melee started.

            Soldiers swarmed, and Lance had no time to ask Shiro how the hell he’d figured out what was going on, or why he was risking permanent brain injury like this. Instead, he zeroed in on someone else completely—the soldier holding his bayard, trying to activate it.

            Lance wove through the soldiers around him, broken arm jostling painfully inside of its sling. He took a running start and leapt, and drop-kicked the soldier. The soldier let go of his bayard, and it skittered across the floor. Lance ran for it, two other soldiers trying to beat him to it. For all of their size and bulk, Lance’s long, lean legs gave him the advantage. He kicked his bayard further out, further away from the crowd, and then swooped in and picked it up. It transformed at his whim, into a a moderately-sized handgun, bigger than the pistol he’d had before.

            _This better work._

            The weight still felt natural in his hands, as natural as his sniper rifle or regular rifle felt.

            The only downside was the recoil.

            Lance stumbled, back hitting the wall as he fired his first few shots at the soldiers converging on him. They went down in twitching heaps, and never got back up. _Good enough._

            Once Lance was clear, he began firing into the crowd, concentrating on the soldiers trying to attack Shiro. He knocked out two that came dangerously close to hitting Shiro over the head, the shots whizzing by Shiro’s face. Shiro didn’t bat an eye—just rolled with it, taking down other soldiers in his close range, now that the crowd around him thinned out, while Lance focused on those further out.

            “Maybe we should retreat!” one of the soldiers shouted, when it became clear that the tides had turned against them in a matter of a few minutes.

            “Not today,” a new voice cut in, just the tiniest bit smug.

            Lance raised his head, smile lighting up his face.

            Keith and Hunk charged down the hall from one direction, while Pidge and Allura moved in closer to Shiro. Hunk went all-in on the soldiers, while Keith sidled up to Lance.

            “What the hell are you and Shiro doing?” Keith asked.

            “Long story, I promise I’ll explain later,” Lance said. “Now come on, we’ve got a fight to finish.”

            If the soldiers’ odds of victory were bad against two Paladins, then they were nonexistent against six. The crowd continued to thin out, until there were none left. Lance considered leaving one or two alive, just to go running back to the emperor and explain just how they’d gotten their asses kicked by a Paladin with a broken arm and one with a concussion, but decided against it. It was like plugging a leak, and leaving one little hole. The hole would expand again, and cause worse problems in the future. Better to finish the job.

            “Okay,” Keith said, breathing hard. His bayard retracted, until it was back into standard form, and then it disappeared into his suit’s storage. “Now. Lance. You said you’d explain. What the _hell were you and Shiro doing out of his room?!_ ”

            “Easy, there, Keith,” Shiro muttered, holding one hand to his head, resting the other on Keith’s shoulder. “Watch the volume. My head’s killing me.”

            “Maybe we should let Shiro lie down first,” Lance suggested, grinning sheepishly.

            Keith glared but didn’t protest, and the group made their slow procession toward Shiro’s room, stepping around the bodies of the fallen soldiers—bodies they would have to figure out how to dispose of, and soon.

            Lance didn’t begin explaining until Shiro was back in bed. Pidge perched, cross-legged, at the end of Shiro’s bed, while Hunk sat on the floor underneath her. Allura sat on the floor, too, closer to Shiro’s head, to monitor his health. Keith, meanwhile, leaned against the wall, one foot flat against it, arms crossed.

            “Why didn’t you get your helmet when you got your bayard?” Pidge interrupted.

            “I asked him that, too,” Shiro muttered, earning giggles from every Paladin but Lance.

            “I don’t know!” Lance answered. “So I go to get my helmet, right? I was just gonna be in and out, but _no,_ _you guys_ couldn’t handle protecting the castle! And so the soldiers got in!”

            “Excuse me,” Hunk interrupted this time, hand raised. “It wasn’t us. It was the particle barrier.”

            “I’ve had drinks stronger than the particle barrier,” Shiro commented.

            Allura swatted his arm. “The castle’s over ten thousand years old!”

            “And we’ve been Paladins how long?” Keith asked.

            The room went quiet. Lance understood that the question was meant to be cutting, like, _so what, we_ _’ve been Paladins for a while now, why couldn’t we get an upgrade if we’re the coolest people in the galaxy?_ But it became clear, the longer the silence wore on, that the others were growing more somber, as it dawned on them how long they’d been away from Earth.

            “Anyway,” Lance cut in, and noted the relieved look Keith shot at him, “I tried playing dead, and it _worked,_ until they kicked my arm.”

            He went on, explaining how it looked like it was going to be the end of him, _and you all would never have seen my dazzling face ever again, what a tragedy,_ when Shiro showed up.

            “I went looking for him when the alarms started,” Shiro muttered, beginning his explanation when he heard nothing but silence, and realized that everyone in the room was looking at him. “I followed the sounds of the soldiers and him yelling.”

            “Lance’s yelling _is_ hard to miss,” Allura remarked.

            “Yeah,” Lance said. “So Shiro totally showed up and was gambling with my life.”

            “I was _not—_ ”

            “And then I realized he had a plan, and we were kicking butt and really didn’t _need_ you guys to step in, but you did, and now we’re all here reminiscing on my near-death experience,” Lance finished. “The lesson here is: when are we repairing the cryopods? Because my arm is _killing me._ ”

            “We’ve finished off the last of the Galra fleets tailing us for now,” Allura said. “Coran’s going to look into getting the pods fixed, and I think the rest of us should look into disposing of those bodies…”

            She rose to her feet, nose scrunched in disgust, and motioned for Pidge, Hunk, and Keith to follow her. Pidge and Hunk followed right away, engaging in conversation about how body disposal was _not the kind of thing we wanted to do today, can we please rest, I don_ _’t wanna touch those things._ Keith lingered, arms still crossed as he looked between Lance and Shiro.

            “Can you two not be reckless for like, two minutes while I’m gone?” Keith asked.

            “Buh—wha—me?! Reckless?!” Lance squawked. “ _Shiro_ _’s_ the one who showed up to a fight with a concussion! He was ready to give himself up, and _you do the same thing!_ I don’t do that!”

            “Wouldn’t have needed to show up if you’d stayed here like you were supposed to,” Shiro muttered, thin smile on his face.

            “Oh, quiet you,” Lance said, and once again resisted the urge to flip the team leader the bird.

            He switched his gaze back to Keith. “Now, Mr. Hotheaded Red Paladin, _you_ _’re_ one to talk about reckless—”

            Keith pushed away from the wall and uncrossed his arms. He shook his head as he approached Lance, kissed him on the cheek, and patted his shoulder. “I’m not the one who got myself into a fight I couldn’t win. Now, you stay here, be good, and I’ll be back soon.”

            Lance made a series of sputtering noises as Keith strode out of the room, and gathered his composure when Keith was about halfway down the hall. Lance darted for the door and poked his head out.

            “Fight I can’t win?! I’ll give you a fight I can’t win!”

            Keith’s ensuing laughter echoed down to him.

            “Shoot—that’s not—ugh!”

            Lance turned back around and sat against the wall, glaring as Shiro chuckled at him.

            “You’re both awful,” Lance said sharply. “It must run in the family.”

            “Whatever you say.”

            Silence overtook the room again, Shiro drumming his fingers contentedly against his stomach, while Lance studied the patterns of metal plates in the ceiling. He frowned when he looked back at the Black Paladin.

            “Hey, Shiro?”

            “Mm?”

            “Uh,” Lance said, and rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand, “thanks. For coming after me. I…probably would be a prisoner right now if you hadn’t.”

            “For what it’s worth, so would I,” Shiro said. “Your shooting skills got us out of that one. But you’re welcome.”

            Lance looked down at the floor and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> hope y'all enjoyed it, i don't know when the next request is coming, or when the next chapter of stars go down is coming (it's been 84 years)
> 
> in the meantime if u haven't, check out my chatfic, **[squad up](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12199533/chapters/27702090)** , chapter 95 went up a few hours ago
> 
> see ya later y'all


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